AN: Just three more chapters after this one! ...man, I hate waiting.
The house seemed incredibly lonely after Dean left. Sam wandered around from room to room, wondering if doing a little dreaded housecleaning might help him deal with the strange mood in which he found himself. The thought brought to mind the question of who actually did Dean's housecleaning. Something told him Dean probably took care of the chores himself. Certainly no one had been in during the few days Sam had known him to sweep the hardwood floors or dust. But everything seemed orderly and reasonably clean. Keeping his environment neat and precise was undoubtedly a part of Dean's nature. It fit with what Sam knew of Dean's preference for being in control of his world.
Sam wondered if Dean had ever felt out of control. When had the need to be in command of everything around him come into existence? Perhaps he had been born that way. Or perhaps something in his past had made him so cautious and controlled. Surely the average person didn't install the kind of sophisticated electronic gadgetry that protected this house unless some event had instilled a raging desire for security. Dean was definitely not the type of man to let his imagination make him paranoid. He must have his reasons for his self-control and the controls he had imposed on his surroundings. The only time Sam sensed that Dean slipped his own leash was when he made love to him.
The images engraved on his mind from the previous night rose to warm him now. He remembered the passion and intensity of the man who had held him. And he recalled his own ungoverned responses.
He wandered into the library and drew a finger along the top shelf of the book case. There was a smudge on his hand afterward but nothing really terrible. Just a normal amount of dust. The kind Sam himself collected on the top shelf of his bookcase. The kind people living alone tended to collect. He wondered how long Dean had lived alone. Most of his life, apparently.
Finding the thought depressing, he turned away from the bookcase and walked over to Dean's desk. Having been through it once, he felt there was no point amusing himself by browsing through it again. He sat down in the swivel chair and remembered the way Dean had caught him here a few nights ago. He hadn't heard Dean's approach, he recalled. You hardly ever heard the man. He moved very quietly in those well-worn sneakers.
A shaft of morning light caught the crystal and gold apple, making the trapped bubbles come alive for a moment. Sam leaned forward and studied the shimmering effect. He liked the notion of Dean having sat here at his desk for months, the apple in front of him, while he worked. How many times had he glanced up idly and found himself studying the apple? Perhaps as many times as Sam had.
But Sam hadn't known there was a duplicate crystal apple in existence, he reminded himself. While Dean had known all along that there was another apple and that someday he would encounter its owner. He wondered what Dean had expected him to be like. What picture had his uncle sketched of him? It was suddenly very important to Sam that Dean had found his gift satisfactory. Sam wanted to be sure he would return to collect it this evening.
'Dean,' he muttered aloud, 'remember what I said about taking care of yourself. I don't think I should have let you go alone.' As if he'd had a choice.
Uneasily Sam stood up and walked slowly back out of the study. He'd make himself another cup of coffee and see if he couldn't find something to read. It was going to be a very long day.
He was pouring the coffee when he realized that what he wanted to read was Phantom. Perhaps if he went through it a second time, this time knowing his uncle had deliberately been planting information, he might pick up something useful. Digging the manuscript out of his duffel bag, he carried it back to Dean's study and sat down to read it with the cup of coffee at his elbow.
He wrinkled his nose at the sketch of the wolf on the first page and then deliberately set himself to go through the manuscript with an alert eye. There must be something in it. Didn't Bobby believe in hiding things in plain view? He certainly had doodled a great deal on the pages. But then, that was standard operating procedure for Bobby Singer whenever he found himself with a pencil in hand and a sheet of paper nearby. The man should have been an artist instead of a secret agent.
Just as had happened the first time through Phantom, Sam once again found himself caught up not in the intricacies of the plot but in the hero's pain and savage determination to survive. The feelings of compassion he had experienced the first time he read it returned anew. He longed to comfort the hero even as he told himself that only the hero could endure his own survival both emotionally and physically. In the end Sam knew he would again be left wanting to know for certain that there really was going to be a happy ending. And once more the question of how much of Dean existed in the guise of Phantom returned to haunt him. This was a first novel. Somewhere he had read that they tended to be the most autobiographical.
Sam was into chapter three when the phone on the desk rang shrilly. The unexpected sound startled him. In the time he had been staying at Dean's home, the thing had never rung. He hesitated a few seconds before reaching out to pick up the receiver. Then the thought that it might be Dean calling for some reason made him fumble with the instrument.
'Hello?'
'Sam.'
'Uncle Bobby!' Sam sat stunned as he heard his uncle's distinctive growl of a voice. 'Uncle Bobby, where are you? I've been absolutely frantic. This whole thing is-'
'Sam, don't talk, just listen to me,' Bobby Singer said quickly. 'Come back to my place as soon as you can.'
'But Uncle Bobby-'
'As soon as you can, Sam. I can't explain. I'll be waiting.'
Bobby hung the phone up in his ear before Sam could get in another question.
His first instinct, Sam realized with chagrin, was to panic. He had no way to reach Dean to tell him what was happening, no way to find out if his uncle needed immediate help such as an ambulance, no way even to begin to figure out what might be wrong. All he could do was obey Bobby Singer's summons as swiftly as possible. He could only reassure himself with Dean's words about his uncle's competence. He can take care of himself.
Whatever else was happening, at least Sam knew he wasn't in the Middle East! If only he could get in touch with Dean to call him off that wild-goose chase but Sam knew that Dean would have his phone turned off for most of his journey. Frantically Sam tried to think. It took him a moment to break through the paralysis engendered by his uncle's phone call. Then he was on his feet and running toward the bedroom. His jacket was where he had left it, slung on a chair. He grabbed it and scrabbled around the pockets for his car keys.
Sam was almost to the front door when he remembered the elaborate warning devices built into Dean's house. Forcing himself to slow down and concentrate, he went into Dean's bedroom and programmed the alarms as Dean had taught him so that he could leave without causing a disturbance. Almost as an afterthought he pushed the reset button so that the house would be able to detect intruders. Dean wouldn't thank him for leaving the exotic alarm system completely turned off. He was afraid to set it to keep out intruders because Dean hadn't told him how to bypass the alarms if he were to leave and then try to re-enter. There was always the chance that he might be coming back here this evening with his uncle. This way the house would recognize that it had been entered, but he would be able to get back inside if he wished. When he was finished, the alarms were set just as they had been the night he'd walked so easily into Dean's study to search it. He'd better leave a note, too, just in case Dean returned before he got back.
He dashed back down the hall to the study and found a pen and a piece of paper. Hastily he jotted down the facts about the phone call and Bobby's summons. Then he glanced around for a means of anchoring the slip of paper. The crystal apple caught his eye. He picked it up and a shaft of morning light broke into a rainbow as it passed through the apple and touched the frozen bubbles inside. Sam found himself staring into the depth of the crystal for a split second. The apple had been the start of this whole mess, he realized. And it had provided the first link between himself and Dean.
Shaking off the momentary sense of distraction, he plunked the crystal apple down on top of his note. Time enough later to figure out whether the apple was more significant than it seemed.
Finished with the task, he raced out the door and jumped down the steps to where his car was parked in the drive. He was furious with his own nervous tension and his anger just served to make him more nervous. It seemed an incredible chore to get the key into the ignition. The wait at the ferry dock was interminable. The Interstate was jammed through the heart of Seattle and over the bridge to Mercer Island. Everything seemed to be conspiring to keep him from making good time out of town.
When at last he was free of the city's congestion, he found it difficult to keep within shouting distance of the speed limit. Every instinct was to hurry. Uncle Bobby's words had sounded extremely urgent. But there had been an oddly flat quality to his voice, Sam thought as he drove. He'd never heard him sound quite that way.
On the other hand, he had never been around him when he was 'working'. For Sam he had always been the laughing, witty man who had seemed to understand him even when the rest of the family hadn't . There had been an affinity between him and his uncle since he was a small boy. His parents tolerated it good-naturedly most of the time. But there had been occasions when he had been warned that it wasn't right to play games with life. The black sheep of the family might be a lot of fun but he didn't set a responsible example for a young person.
With every passing mile Sam wondered what had gone wrong with Bobby Singer's latest game.
It wasn't until nearly two hours later when he was turning off onto the narrow road that led toward the cottage that Sam remembered to wonder why his uncle hadn't mentioned Dean. If there was anything really wrong, would Bobby have asked him to come alone?
Impatiently he slowed to take the twists and turns of the old road. Quite suddenly he was furious with both his uncle and Dean. These men and their little macho schemes. And they had the nerve to say he played games! When this was all over, Sam decided as he braked for a sharp curve, he would give them both a piece of his mind. More than that. He'd tear a wide strip off each of them.
The car that blocked the road on the far side of the curve came as a distinct shock. It was sitting across both lanes, making it utterly impossible to get past. Sam, who had his foot on the accelerator again as he came out of the curve, hurriedly slammed on the brakes.
'Damn it to hell!' It was the last straw, Sam told himself as he came to a halt. Well, at least he could walk to the cottage from here. Angrily, his mood fuelled by a firestorm of mounting concern, he pulled over to the side of the road, pushed open the door and climbed out. There was no one in the other car as far as he could tell. Who on earth would be stupid enough to leave a vehicle in the middle of the road? Probably some drunk driver who hadn't made it home from a local tavern.
Leaning down, Sam reached inside his own car to yank the keys from the ignition. It couldn't be more than a mile now to his uncle's house. He straightened up, stepped back to slam the car door, spun around and found himself staring straight into Nick Sa'mael's hawk like face.
'Congratulations, Mr Campbell. You made excellent time.' He motioned almost negligently with the compact, snub-nosed gun he held in his right hand. 'I just put the car across the road fifteen minutes ago. Thought you'd take a little longer to get here.'
'I shouldn't have hurried, apparently,' Sam managed in a tight voice. He couldn't take his eyes off the gun. The casually efficient way Sa'mael held it seemed as frightening as anything else that was happening. A man who held a gun that coolly must have had plenty of practice. 'Who are you, Mr. Sa'mael?'
'Let's just say I'm an old acquaintance of your uncle's.' He nodded toward his vehicle as he spoke. 'Now I think we'd better get these cars off the road. This isn't a well-travelled area but I wouldn't want some stranger coming along and starting to ask silly questions.'
'Such as why you're holding a gun on someone?' Sam didn't move. He wasn't certain he could.
Sa'mael's smile was an odd travesty of humour. 'Take it as a compliment, Mr. Campbell. I learned long ago not to take any chances. Even with an unemployed corporate suit. Get in the car. You'll drive.'
When he stepped toward him, Sam discovered that he could, indeed, move. He edged back toward the nondescript compact that was lodged across the road. 'Drive where?'
'To your uncle's cabin, of course. That's as good a place to wait for him as any.'
'I thought you said he was in the middle east!'
'I lied. I do that quite well. You should start getting used to it. A lot of people in your life lie to you. Now move, Mr. Campbell. And please, for both our sakes, don't try anything too tricky, okay?'
There was no opportunity to try anything clever even if he had been able to think of something truly brilliant, Sam discovered. At the point of the gun he slid into the driver's seat. His fingers shook slightly as he took the wheel. His shirt was turning dark under his arms from a nervous sweat. He was not in the habit of being held at gunpoint. Sa'mael got in beside him, his eyes never leaving Sam for an instant.
The drive to Bobby Singer's cabin was a short one. Sam fantasized briefly about stomping down on the accelerator and trying some wild maneuver that might dislodge the weapon from Sa'mael's hand but common sense warned him it wouldn't work. There was no way he could get the car up to a fast rate of speed before Sa'mael could put a bullet in him. There would be plenty of time for Nick Sa'mael to kill him and grab the wheel.
The cottage appeared exactly as he and Dean had left it. When Sam obediently switched off the ignition, Sa'mael ordered him out of the car.
'Now we'll walk back and get the other one.' He stood aside and waited for Sam to start back down the road ahead of him.
'Why the stunt with the car across the road? Why didn't you simply wait for me in the cabin?'
'I was afraid you might be suspicious about entering the house when you noticed the strange car in the drive. And there wasn't any convenient place to hide it and still have it readily available.' He indicated the cleared area that extended from the drive to the front of the house. 'I also didn't know if you and your uncle might have some particular signal.'
'You're giving me a lot more credit for caution and observation than I deserve,' Sam told him dryly. 'I doubt that I would have thought twice about the car. I would have assumed it was my uncle's. And we don't have any special greeting signal! Good grief, I'm his nephew, not a secret agent.'
'Oh, I'm aware of who you are, Sam Campbell. Very much aware. I'm counting on your identity to lure your uncle out into the open, you see.'
Sam turned to glance back at him over his shoulder. The gun was still pointed unwaveringly at his back. 'But that was my uncle's voice on the phone. I don't understand. Where is he?'
Sa'mael arched an eyebrow. 'It was your uncle's voice, all right. Right off the voice mails on his answering machine.'
'His answering machine! But he didn't say those things on the machine,' Sam gasped, startled.
'Sure he did,' Sa'mael told his with a soft chuckle. 'He just didn't say them in quite that order.'
'You mixed his words from the voice mails into different sentences?'
'And digitally recorded them. It takes a little work and the right equipment, but it can be done. I had both his recorded message to callers and the message to your friend Dean with which to work. Plenty of material from which to get a few simple sentences.'
Sam stared unseeingly at his car as they rounded the bend. 'You appear to be very professional at this sort of thing, Mr. Sa'mael,' he murmured dully.
'Very,' he assured Sam. 'It would be best if you didn't forget it.'
Sam drove the second car back to the cottage under the same circumstances as he had driven the first. When he finally parked it beside Sa'mael's compact the man motioned him into the house.
"What now?' Sam asked quietly as he stepped inside.
'Now we wait. Make some coffee if you like. It's probably going to take a while.' Sa'mael appeared unconcerned.
'But what exactly are we going to wait for?'
'Your uncle should be contacting us in the near future.'
'But why would he do that? How would he even know where I am or that I'm with you?' The shock of the situation was affecting his mind, Sam thought vaguely. He couldn't seem to think properly. Perhaps he ought to take Sa'mael's advice and make some coffee. At least it would give him something to do. He was very much afraid that if he sat down or stood still he would begin to shake.
'Your uncle is looking for me. It's only a matter of time before he figures out I'm waiting patiently right here on his home stomping grounds. And when he does, he'll discover I have you with me.'
Sam turned on the tap in the kitchen sink, aware of Sa'mael watching him from the doorway. 'You're going to use me?'
'I'm going to trade you to your uncle for the information I want,' Sa'mael confirmed. 'I see it all as a business deal.'
'And what information is it that you want, Mr. Sa'mael?' he demanded softly.
'Don't you think you should start calling me Nick?'
'I don't see us ever getting together on a social basis,' Sam gritted out as he set the pot into place in the coffee machine.
'But we are together, Sam,' Nick drawled smoothly. 'Perhaps for some time. You made it very easy, really. I was a little worried about how to get rid of the boyfriend. I wasn't sure until yesterday where he fit into the scene. I had a couple of plans I thought would work but he simplified matters considerably when he obligingly left on the morning plane to Mexico City. His leaving for Mexico also confirmed his part in all this.'
'Mexico City!'
'I got the clerk at the airline counter to verify that he bought a one-way ticket to Mexico What's the matter, Sam? Didn't he tell you where he was going?'
'Yes, but I… I just don't see how you could find out that sort of information.' Sam was surprised that he could get the lie fairly glibly past his lips. Mexico City! It didn't make any sense. You didn't pop down to Mexico City for the day and return by early evening. And just yesterday Dean had been telling him tales of how a man could disappear into Mexico City and reappear on the other side of the world.
'You can get all sorts of information out of people if you flash the right badges at them,' Sa'mael informed him. 'Poor little boy. You still don't realize what he's done, do you? You've been had, kid. In more ways than one.'
'He's a writer,' Sam explained, struggling for something logical to say. 'He does a lot of research and he's had this trip planned for some time. My showing up got in the way of his schedule, I'm afraid. He's setting the next book in Mexico.' Did that sound reasonable? 'I didn't have the time to go with him.'
'Is that a fact?' Sa'mael said musingly. 'So he just left you up here all by yourself to worry about your uncle? After asking for forty-eight hours to think over your problem?'
'I… yes.' It was probably better not to weave any more strands into the story. He wouldn't be able to keep it straight in his own head.
'Not terribly gallant of him, was it?'
Sam said nothing. He focused on the pot filling with coffee.
'You're a fool, Sam,' Sa'mael finally said calmly. 'You've been dumped. As long as Winchester figured you were the easiest way to get at the gold, he was willing to play lover. But yesterday when I let him know that others were getting close to the prize, he panicked and decided you were no longer the quickest or safest means to an end. I know better. I know that you still are the best means to this particular end. I'm a patient man, Sam.'
Sam cast him a quick, uneasy glance. Sa'mael smiled again. 'Want me to tell you the real reason he's gone south?'
'What's your explanation, Mr. Sa'mael?'
'Oh, it's simple enough. Mexico City is a wide-open town. It has a certain reputation in the industry. Among other things it's a jumping-off point for people who want to head for such places as Kuwait without letting the U.S. government know where they're going. You can buy anything in Mexico City, including alterations on your passport. Your boyfriend has skipped out on you. He's probably heading for the Middle East.'
'I thought,' Sam said weakly, 'that the stories about Mexico City were just the product of espionage fiction. Legends and tales.'
'Fact, I'm afraid. Your lover has skipped.' Sa'mael seemed amused.
Sam lowered his gaze. 'Why would he do that?'
'Because he's decided to risk going after the gold on his own instead of waiting for your uncle to return. As I said, he got nervous yesterday when he realized others were closing in on it. He's obviously a friend of your uncle's and Singer made the mistake of trusting him, both with his nephew and with the information about the gold. Singer never used to make mistakes like that, but he's getting old. He's trusted the wrong man with the details of what was probably intended to be your inheritance. The race is on, Sam, but I'm the one with the inside track. I've got you. I'm not worried that Winchester tried to buy himself forty-eight hours for a head start. It won't do him any good because he's obviously an amateur. A greedy amateur, but an amateur nonetheless.'
'Why do you say he's an amateur?'
'Because a professional would have realized that you're the most useful key around. And that I'm the biggest threat. A professional would have made a try for me before leaving town, if for no other reason than to find out just how much I know. The middle east is a big and dangerous place to go hunting without specific directions and a few contacts. Winchester will probably just succeed in getting himself killed trying for your uncle's gold. And it does nothing to change my plans. One way or another I wound up with you, and ever since you appeared on the scene so conveniently, that's been my goal. I'm a highly adaptable man. Before you came along I was using a different approach. I'd been through this cabin with a fine-tooth comb. I was just realizing how useless that method was going to be when you showed up out of the blue. Couldn't figure out who you were at first, but after you'd left the first time I remembered seeing the phone-answering machine. I played it back to see if I could pick up any information about Singer's unexpected guest, and sure enough, all the news I needed was on that tape. That's how I found out you're Singer's nephew.'
'You want that gold, don't you?' Sam reached for a cup and poured coffee with exaggerated care. He was afraid that if he wasn't extremely cautious he would spill the hot liquid all over the counter. 'The gold you said my uncle left behind in the middle east.'
'Yes, Sam. I want the gold. Pour me a cup, too. Just set it on the counter. I'll get it. Wouldn't want you trying to throw it in my face with a grand, heroic gesture.'
'So you're going to use me to force my uncle to tell you exactly where he hid the stuff?' Sam persisted, standing back so that Sa'mael could pick up his coffee.
'Precisely.'
'You said Uncle Bobby thinks you're in Hawaii,' he began with a frown as he tried frantically to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
'I made certain he got the information to that effect. Rumours are very effective in our crowd, even among the, uh, golden-agers. I wanted him sidetracked for a while so that I could try getting the data I needed the easy way.'
'You searched this place,' Sam murmured, remembering the chaos he and Dean had discovered.
'Unfortunately, as I said, my search didn't turn up anything so convenient as a map, a set of coordinates or even a computer that would have made my task a straightforward one. I really thought I'd have a chance of finding what I wanted because I knew your uncle rather well at one time, Sam. I know his theories on hiding important data, for example. He always got a kick out of concealing things right in front of someone's nose. Singer had a sense of humour, you can say that for the man. When I didn't turn up anything, I realized matters were going to get complicated. I made the search look like the work of punks and decided to keep watch on the cabin for a while. It paid off. You happened along and greatly simplified my life.'
Sam leaned back against the counter, his hands braced against the cool tiles. 'Why would my uncle go tearing off to Hawaii just because he thought you were there, Mr. Sa'mael?'
'He thinks that after all these years I've decided to go after the gold. He's got a couple of other reasons for following my trail, too. He and a few others, I believe, have some private suspicions about me.' Sa'mael sipped tentatively at his coffee. 'Not bad,' he declared. 'I enjoy good coffee.'
Sam took a deep breath before plunging in with the next question. 'My uncle has other reasons for hunting you down?'
''Hunting' sounds a bit melodramatic, don't you think? Let's just say he couldn't resist the hint that I might have surfaced and that he might be able to find me.'
Sam met his gaze unflinchingly. 'Do you by any chance go under the code name of… of Wolf?'
Sa'mael went still, the coffee halfway to his mouth. Slowly he lowered the cup, his dark eyes narrowing speculatively. 'Now what would you know about the man called Wolf?'
Sam's fingers tightened around the counter's edge. He was beginning to wish he hadn't brought up the subject. 'Not much. My uncle mentioned him once. That's all.'
'And you've been assuming I might be… Wolf?'
Sam didn't like the cold amusement that was suddenly in his eyes. 'The thought occurred to me.'
'Fascinating.'
'Well?' he challenged bravely.
Sa'mael's mouth drew back in a humourless smile. 'Your uncle always could tell a good story.'
'Is that all Wolf is? A Bobby Singer tale?' Sam questioned. It was getting difficult to tell tales from reality, he realized.
Sa'mael chuckled, shaking his head. 'No. As usual with your uncle, there's a germ of truth in the story. There really was a man called Wolf. I never met him. Few people did and survived to tell about it. His cover was very deep and he protected it. They said he had a thing about maintaining his cover.'
A man who liked to be in total control of his surroundings. Sam shivered. 'What do you mean his cover was Deep?'
'He's a legend, Sam. Just like the gold that never made it out of Kuwait. But he was real like the gold, too. Lethally real, from what I understand. In my business legends can be real.' His mouth twisted ironically.
'But you're not him?'
'Hell, no.' Sa'mael grimaced. 'Give me some credit. The guy cracked up completely, according to the old gossip. Went bonkers on his last mission. He never returned.'
Sam was very still. 'What do you mean, he cracked up?'
'Just what I said. The story goes that he broke like a fine-tuned violin string. Came apart. Went crazy. Cracked. Couldn't handle what he was paid to handle. Got himself killed on his last assignment. Why the interest? Because you've been assuming I'm him?'
'The thought had crossed my mind,' he admitted quietly.
'I'm not especially flattered. The guy may once have been good, the best there was, in fact, but I sure as hell don't intend to lose my nerve the way he did.'
'What are you going to do with the gold if you get it?' Sam pressed, desperate to keep the conversation moving. He had no particular wish to chat the afternoon away with Nick Sa'mael, but he somehow felt safer when the man was talking.
'I'm going to retire, Sam. Somewhere far, far away. Some nice island, perhaps where a lot of gold will buy a lot of silence and a lot of what I want out of life. I've been living under a great deal of tension for the past couple of years. And you know what they say about the dangers of too much tension. I've done well financially, but as the magazines say, stress takes its toll.'
'Like it did on the man called Wolf?' Sam flung back.
Sa'mael shook his head. 'That was an entirely different sort of situation. According to the story, he simple broke. With me, dropping out is more of a reasonable, strictly pragmatic business decision. You see, I've been working very hard lately. And I'm a little tired. Holding down two jobs will do that to a man.'
'Two jobs?' Sam questioned, confused.
'Never mind.' Sa'mael shifted his position in the doorway. 'I really don't feel like discussing it any further at the moment. Let's go into the living room and sit down. We might have a long wait ahead of us. But have no fear. Sooner or later your uncle will figure out that he's been sent on a wild-goose chase. When he does he'll rush back here. We'll be waiting for him. I bought some food. Enough to last us a couple of days, if necessary. But I doubt we'll have to put up with each other's company for that long. Your uncle is a smart man.'
What did you talk about when you found yourself whiling away the hours with a man who kept a gun in his hand when he conversed with you?
Sam was still asking himself that sometime later as he sat almost immobile on the sofa in front of the cold fireplace. He hadn't moved in so long that he was afraid his foot might have grown numb. When he did move it cautiously, Sa'mael glanced at his sharply.
'Going somewhere, Sam?'
'The bathroom, unless you have any objections,' he muttered, rising slowly to his feet. There was a tingling sensation in his left foot but it wasn't completely numb.
Sa'mael eyed him thoughtfully. 'None. There's no way out of that room. I've checked. Try to resist the temptation to forage for a pair of scissors or a razor blade. You'd only wind up cutting yourself.'
Sam didn't respond. He turned away and went down the hall to the bathroom. When the door closed behind him, he sagged against the sink and stared at his drawn face in the mirror.
He had to do something. He couldn't bear this endless waiting. What was it Dean had said about the value of patience? In this case it brought nothing but anxiety. It didn't seem to bother Sa'mael particularly, he reflected. The man was very professional about the whole thing. Or at least he seemed professional. Hard to judge, given his own limited experience in this kind of business. Sam winced.
Sa'mael had the ability to wait but would he bother with that route if he thought there might be a shortcut to his goal, Sam asked himself as he splashed his face with cold water. He'd tried a shortcut once before when he created the diversion that had sent Uncle Bobby off to Hawaii. If Sam could make him think there was an alternative to this interminable waiting, perhaps he would go for it. He dried his flushed face and thought of Dean's promise to return by early evening.
There was no way Dean could make it back tonight if he'd actually gone to Mexico and Sa'mael seemed convinced he'd gone.
But Dean had promised Sam he'd be back. And the house was set on its alarm status. If Sam were inside the house with Sa'mael, Dean would know as soon as he returned that there was trouble. His small signalling device would warn him there had been an unauthorized intrusion when he came within a couple of blocks of his home.
That scenario would only work if Dean really was planning to return tonight. If he was even now en route to Mexico City, Sam was in very bad trouble. Heaven only knew where his uncle was.
Sam wrenched himself away from the mirror. It was an incredible disaster, and if he didn't act, it was going to get worse. He didn't have any illusions about the man in the next room. Sa'mael was quite capable of casually torturing him tonight or raping him and then killing him later after he had what he wanted from Uncle Bobby.
Sam's only real chance was to bank on the fact that Dean had told him the truth about returning this evening.
Legends and reality. How could a person be sure of the difference, Sam asked himself.
A few minutes later Sam opened the bathroom door and went down the hall to the living room. He saw the fleeting spark of interest in Sa'mael's eyes as he resumed his seat on the couch. No, the last thing he wanted to risk was spending the night here with him.
'In another couple of hours we'll have to discuss the sleeping arrangements, Sam,' Sa'mael mused, tossing a magazine into the basket beside the chair. 'I think that could be interesting.'
'Really? Do you sleep with your gun in your hand, Mr. Sa'mael?'
The hawk faced man chuckled. 'I think I can dispense with the gun once I've tied you up for the night. You'd look interesting spread-eagled on the bed.'
Sam shuddered and nerved himself for the next bit. 'I'm not interested in sharing a bed with you.'
'Perhaps I will find it a challenge to see if I can create a little interest,' he suggested coolly.
'I doubt it. I'm going to be married soon.'
'Are you?' he murmured blandly. 'The boyfriend who just skipped town? You'll have to catch him first, won't you?'
Sam chose his next words carefully. 'That gold you're after is supposed to be my wedding gift from my uncle.'
Sa'mael's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. 'Just how much do you know about your uncle's little social security cache?'
Sam tried for a mild shrug, his arms spread nonchalantly across the back of the couch where he sat. 'About as much as you do. You know my uncle. He's fond of dropping little, uh, hints.'
'Singer never does anything without a reason. And in spite of that easygoing façade, I worked with him long enough to know he's a shrewd and careful man. If he was dropping hints to you about the gold, then he must have truly believed it was safe for you to know about it. No reason he shouldn't think it was safe after all these years, I suppose.'
'In addition to being shrewd and careful, my uncle also likes to plan for the future,' Sam added deliberately. 'He wanted Dean and me to know enough about the gold to be able to find it someday in the event something happened to him.'
Sa'mael leaned forward on his chair, the gun cradled loosely in his fist. 'That's very interesting, Sam. Very interesting. It puts a whole new light on the situation. Up until now I've assumed that no one except Singer knew the truth about that gold. It's a fact that your uncle tries not to leave much to chance, though. Tell me more, little boy. Tell me what made Winchester think he's got a shot at the gold. I've been wondering who he plans to contact after Mexico City.'
Sam caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth, watching Sa'mael the way a small mouse probably watched a hovering eagle. Dean, where are you? 'Mr. Sa'mael, I'll make a deal with you.'
Sa'mael smiled and Sam could almost hear the way he must be laughing inwardly at his naiveté. The knowledge made him grit his teeth.
'I'm listening, little boy.'
'If I… if I show you where I think the information is hidden, will you take it and go away?'
'I'd have no reason to hang around any longer if I had a map showing the location of the gold,' Sa'mael murmured.
Sam wanted to cringe, but he managed to project a hopeful expression. 'It's at Dean's.'
'Your boyfriend's house?'
'He's the man I'm going to marry. Uncle Bobby gave us each a copy of the map. If what you say is true about Dean being in Mexico, then he must have taken his copy with him. But I have my own. Or at least I have information that will lead me to the gold. I'm not sure that it's exactly a map.'
'I can't quite decide whether or not to believe you, little boy,' Sa'mael finally said.
Sam clenched his fingers tightly together. 'I can show you.'
'But first we have to drive all the way back to that damn island? I don't like islands, Sam. A man can get trapped on islands. So few ways off, you see.'
'I thought you were going to retire to an island,' Sam shot back.
'Ah, but that will be different. Much different. There I will have my own means of transportation.'
Sam let out his breath. 'Then you're not interested in getting your hands on the information my uncle gave to me?'
Sa'mael was quiet for a long while and then he suddenly seemed to come to a decision. 'It would make things much simpler if it turned out that you're telling the truth, although I have a few doubts. Still, your boyfriend is several thousand miles away by now following some lead. I'd give a lot to know exactly what kind of lead he thinks he has. Who knows when your uncle will show up.' He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his eyes hooded and speculative. 'I suppose there's no harm in checking out your story. We could be into the city and over to that damn island within a couple of hours.'
'Yes.' Sam could hardly breathe as he waited for the final decision. Was greed finally going to swamp this man's patience?
Nick Sa'mael nodded once. 'All right, Sam. We'll go. But I warn you that if you've lied to me, I will make things most unpleasant for both you and your uncle. And probably your boyfriend, too.'
'I'm not lying,' Sam said with great conviction. 'I know where my copy of the information is hidden. I had finally realized it just before you made that fake phone call this morning.'
'I do believe you're telling the truth,' Sa'mael mused as he studied the certainty in Sam's expression. 'Fascinating. Remind me to thank you later.'
Sure, thought Sam as he got to his feet. I'll remind you. Just before you pull that trigger.